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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he three weeks we waited for the team selection to start felt like three months.

After Orion left, we were split up and locked in separate cells instead.

Probably to prevent us from being able to plot an early escape together.

Fortunately, they also changed my restraints from the heavy manacle to a much smaller one which wasn’t locked to the floor.

It was enough iron to block my magic but not to leave me completely drained of energy.

So with nothing better to do, I spent the past three weeks working out in my cell.

Now, as we are led into the grand arena in the middle of the city, I feel surprisingly strong and confident. Especially considering the fact that I was lying face down on a table with a broken spine and ice flames destroying my body three weeks ago.

“You’re number nine,” declares a male fae with several rings in both of his ears.

He shoves a piece of paper with the number nine written on it at Alistair’s chest. Alistair barely has time to grab it before it can flutter to the sand below. With a scowl, he grips the paper in one hand and looks between it and the man who handed it to him.

The Unseelie fae gives us all a look full of suspicion but then just raises a hand and points towards the open space in the middle of the arena. “Stand over there. Between teams eight and ten.”

Before any of us can so much as ask a single question, the guards who escorted us here from the dungeons begin herding us towards the spot that the man indicated. I study the arena around us.

The massive structure has been built using the same pale beige stone as the rest of the city.

But as opposed to the houses with their colorful red roofs, this building doesn’t even have a roof.

Craning my neck, I glance up at the blue sky above.

A few wispy clouds drift lazily across the heavens, and the bright midday sun warms my cheeks.

I shift my gaze back down to the tall walls that frame the flat sand ground.

Shaped like an oval, the arena has also been built in several tiers. The ones closest to the ground are located farther in and then each tier of seats is placed a little farther back so that it’s sloping outwards slightly. At the top, decorative arches have been set.

It’s an incredibly impressive structure, and much larger than the amphitheater in the Seelie Court. As I shift my gaze back down from the walls, I can’t help but wonder if our court also hosted games like this before we were conquered. Why else would we have a similar arena?

My heart twists painfully. So much of our own history and culture has been lost. So much that we might never be able to relearn.

“Didn’t he say that there are only six teams competing?” Galen suddenly asks, keeping his voice low.

Pulled out of my own distracting thoughts, I give my head a quick shake to clear it and then glance around the arena.

Surprise flickers through me when I realize that it’s full of people.

Each group consists of six people, just like ours, but there are far more than six groups.

I do a quick count as our guards position us in an empty spot between two teams. There has to be something like twenty teams in here.

“Yes,” Draven replies.

“He also said team selection ,” I add, still studying the groups around us while our guards withdraw. “So I’m guessing they will choose six teams out of the ones who are here.”

Tense silence falls over our group for a few seconds. My stomach twists with worry as a sudden thought slithers through my mind.

“But we’re guaranteed a spot, right?” Alistair says, voicing what we were all no doubt thinking. When no one is able to confirm it, he repeats a bit more forcefully, “Right?”

“If we don’t get selected, we won’t even have a chance to win,” Galen says. “We’ll be stuck here until the next team selection. And then the next. And the next.”

Draven curses under his breath. “That fucking asshole.”

“Welcome!” a female fae with long red hair suddenly calls from the platform by the wall. “Today, you will all be given a chance to be chosen for the incredible honor of competing for one of the six factions.”

A rush of excitement sweeps through the gathered teams.

“There are a few new teams this time around,” the woman continues.

“You’ll figure it out. The rest of you know the drill.

Get ready for inspection.” Sweeping out her arm, she motions towards six people who are standing on the platform beside her.

“Faction owners, feel free to move around the arena and inspect the teams available for this round’s Great Games. ”

My heart starts pattering in my chest. We need to get one of those faction owners to choose our team. If we can’t even compete, we won’t be able to win our freedom back.

Four of the six people who were standing on the platform descend the steps and start towards the closest groups. The other two, a man wearing a red tunic and a woman wearing a white dress, remain standing on the dais, just watching everyone else with smirks on their faces.

“Looks like the Red Faction and the White Faction don’t even need to think about which teams to choose,” the redheaded organizer says with a grin.

Two of the teams, one a little in front of us and to the right and the other on the far left, let out cheers and salute the two faction owners on the platform.

“Shit,” Lyra breathes. “We need to make one of them choose us. I can’t take one more day in isolation like that.” For the first time since I met her, I can hear clear dread in her voice. “Let alone several months.”

We all keep our eyes on the four faction owners who are moving across the sand, but a ripple of worry washes through our group. There are eighteen teams left and only four factions.

“Selena,” Draven says without looking at me.

“On it,” I reply.

Lowering my chin, I adjust my body language so that it looks like I’m just staring down at the sand beneath my feet because I’m nervous. But as soon as the people around us can no longer see my eyes, I summon my magic.

When the guards took us from our cells, they also removed all of our restraints, which means that I can finally access my magic again. Isera and Alistair would never be able to use theirs without attracting attention. But I most certainly can.

After a discreet glance to check where the faction owners are, I throw out my magic towards the beige sparks of uncertainty in their chests. As they study the other teams, I increase that flame to make them doubt those teams.

Three of them begin moving away from the teams they were inspecting and towards others next to them.

But the fourth one, a female fae wearing black pants and a black tunic, raises her head and looks from side to side for a few seconds.

Her long and straight hair is so pale blond in color that it’s practically white.

My heart leaps as she starts in our direction.

“She’s coming,” Galen whispers softly.

I make sure to keep my eyes firmly on the ground as she walks straight towards us. Releasing my grip on the uncertainty in their chests, I instead focus solely on her.

Once she reaches our group, I latch on to the burgundy spark of courage in her chest and begin increasing it. Since we’re outsiders, I need to make her feel bold and confident so that she will choose us anyway.

My heart slams against my ribs as she comes to a halt in front of Isera, who is standing on the far left of our little row. With slow steps, she begins walking the line. Alistair crosses his arms when she passes him, but thankfully says nothing.

I barely dare to breathe as she reaches me. My eyes are locked on her black shoes as she stops right in front of me.

Her hand shoots out.

I gasp as she suddenly grips my jaw and wrenches my chin up.

The moment her hand connects with my chin, I release the grip on my magic, so once my eyes are visible again, they are no longer glowing. There is no way that she had time to see it.

Her eyes, a stunning mix of pink and gold, sear into mine. Then a knowing smile as sharp as a blade spreads across her mouth.

“It’s about a hundred years too soon for you to try to manipulate my emotions, girl,” she says.

My heart leaps into my throat. How in Mabona’s name did she have time to see that my eyes were glowing?

I stare back at her, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

She tightens her grip on my jaw, digging her fingers in more firmly.

Draven’s hand shoots up and wraps around her wrist in an iron grip. Threats drip from every word as he growls, “Take your hand off her or I’ll snap your fucking wrist.”

Keeping her grip on my jaw, she just slowly turns her head and locks eyes with Draven before giving him a cold smile brimming with challenge. “If I tell Rosea that this sneaky little girl used magic to influence the faction owners, your entire team will be disqualified.”

From the other end of our row, Lyra whips her head towards us in panic.

With my chin still trapped in the faction owner’s grip, I reach out blindly with my hand until I find Draven’s other arm. Brushing my hand down his forearm, I give his wrist a squeeze as I whisper, “Draven.”

He stares daggers at the faction owner for another second before reluctantly releasing her wrist.

She chuckles. “Good boy.”

Draven clenches both hands into fists but thankfully doesn’t rip her throat out.

After watching him with amused eyes for another moment, she uses her free hand to flip her long white hair back behind her shoulder before she returns her gaze to me.

“I can see why you would need to cheat in order to get someone to pick you, though,” she says, mocking amusement lacing her voice. “You’re the weakest team here.”

Behind her shoulder, the other three faction owners glance in our direction before moving on to other teams.

The woman still gripping my jaw once more slides her gaze to Draven. “ You are powerful, of course. The infamous Shadow of Death. But you can’t shift in here.” She flicks a glance over the rest of us and then clicks her tongue. “And the rest of you? Two with no magic at all and three Seelie fae.”

She says Seelie as if the word itself tastes disgusting.

“Even before you were conquered, you were weaker than us,” she continues. “You were never ruthless enough to actually develop your powers to their full extent. And now when you’ve been starved and oppressed for millennia? Your powers will be nothing compared to ours.”

I grind my teeth as I glare back at her.

“Glare all you want,” she says, holding my stare. “It still doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And everyone here knows it. Which is why no one will ever pick you.”

If I’d had my knife, I would have shoved it between her ribs. But unfortunately, I don’t have a weapon. And there are eight guards looming a few steps behind our backs.

At last, she releases my jaw. Dusting off her hands, she takes a step back and then levels a look full of threats and challenge on me.

“If you use your magic again, I will tell Rosea.” She jerks her chin in the direction of the female fae with red hair who appears to be the organizer for these games.

“And then you will be disqualified. Got it?”

I glare back at her in angry silence for a second before forcing myself to nod.

“Good.” She chuckles and then starts towards another team.

Clenching and unclenching my hands, I stare at her retreating back and imagine the sound she would make if I rammed a blade into it.

“Mabona’s fucking tits,” I snarl softly under my breath. “How the hell did she know that I was using magic?”

None of the others know either, of course, so they don’t reply. Instead, the six of us are forced to just stand there silently and watch as the other three faction owners inspect all teams except for ours.

“They’re not going to pick us,” Galen says as the four faction owners at last start walking back to the platform.

“No,” Draven confirms. Shifting his weight slightly, he casts a discreet glance over his shoulder at the guards lurking there behind us. “We need to make a move before we get back to the dungeon.”

“We’re not waiting for the next game?” Lyra asks, sounding incredibly relieved.

“No. There’s no point. It will be like this every time. Better to try to fight our way out.”

“Agreed,” Alistair says from my other side. “And without?—”

“Alright, listen up!” Rosea, the game organizer, calls across the arena. “It’s time to choose teams.” She reaches into a small brass bowl and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper. Opening it, she reads, “Green Faction.”

The male fae wearing a fancy green tunic steps forward. “Team twelve.”

A cheer rises from the indicated team.

Rosea pulls out another small piece of paper. “White.”

The woman with the white dress, who never even left the platform, immediately looks towards the team on the far left and declares, “Team two.”

They salute her.

The same thing happens when Rosea calls the Red Faction. The owner of the Blue Faction picks team eighteen and the Yellow Faction chooses team six.

“Remember that fountain we passed?” Draven whispers while Rosea unfolds the final piece of paper. “That’s where we make our move. We can disappear into the narrow alley on the left and block it before they can follow.”

I hadn’t even noticed that there was a narrow alley close to that fountain when we were escorted here, but Draven apparently never turns off his scheming brain.

“And last but not least,” Rosea calls. “Jocasta, which team will you choose for your Black Faction?”

Jocasta, the white-haired fae who confronted me earlier, steps forward.

“If we can get out of the city, I can fly us one at a time to the border,” Draven continues. “Then from there, we can?—”

“Team nine,” Jocasta declares.

Dead silence falls over the arena.

Next to me, Alistair glances down at the paper in his hand.

Then clothes rustle as every single team turns to stare at us.

My stomach lurches.

Up on the platform, Jocasta flashes us a sharp smile that looks slightly threatening.

“Uhm…” Alistair says as he looks up from the paper in his hand, which has the number nine clearly written on it.

I stare at the strange white-haired woman in absolute bewilderment.

What the hell just happened?